As The World Churns
by Sideshow Flo
Summary: What if Harry Potter was a soap opera? Click to continue. R&R.


As The World Churns: A Harry Potter Soap.  
  
(I do not own Harry Potter. Or his little friends.)  
  
~~  
  
Isn't Harry Potter grand? Me, I love seeing a book that's been challenged, banned, and even enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of people at the same time. It's also a great thing to spoof accurately off of: I don't like to curse unless I get really wound up into a story or whatever, and neither does J. K. Rowling. It also has plenty of goofy characters I can majorly twist to my will.  
  
Speaking of oodles and oodles of characters. What else has ten million characters? And, coming to think of it, has plots formulated from the tiniest things sometimes (Ex: the Unexpected Task, etc)?  
  
The answer, my little puppets, is SOAPS.  
  
Yes, SOAPS. Very few people like them. But most of us know OF them. And those of us that know OF them, well, we all know how much fun they are to make fun of. I mean, dude. Those falsely freaked out expressions of confusion mingled with hurt and alarm are priceless, man. Not to mention seriously annoying, but that's beside the point.  
  
The point is this. As if you haven't figured out what I'm going to do yet. . . . I plan to merge the saga of Harry Potter and the irritating flavor of soap operas. You see, I can take all those characters and present them the bane of my existence, ANGST. So-and-so is cheating on So-and-So, hence, So- and-so has an affair with So-and-So's brother, who is actually still seeing What's-her-face, his ex-girlfriend who is, behind So-and-So's brother's back, actually still interested in--- well, see, you get it.  
  
So here you are: As the World Churns.  
  
~~  
  
Scene One, The Dursleys' Cupboard.  
  
(Our opening scene fades in from black. A scrawny, bespectacled boy of eleven is crouched in a little closet under a set of stairs. He doesn't look-shall we say-particularly happy. Truth be told, he looks like he's going to burst into tears at any minute.)  
  
Voiceover, quavering from suppressed sobs: You may not know much about me. But then, my life is futile and entirely doomed, so why should anyone care anything about me anyway?  
  
(A tear slides down the scrawny boy's face, Frodo-in-LOTR style. Soft corny music commences.)  
  
Voiceover: But in any case, this is my story, and BY GOD, I HAVE A RIGHT TO HAVE IT TOLD!! MY LIFE IS MORE PAINFUL THAN YOURS! SO SHUT UP!  
  
. . . .  
  
Ahem. My name is Harry Potter. And wherever I go. . . the world churns.  
  
(Suddenly, the cupboard door whips open. A creepy looking woman stands outside of it, the picture of evil.)  
  
Mrs. Dursely: What are you doing, still skulking in that closet?! It is my son's birthday! Now make him bacon!  
  
Harry: Which son?  
  
Mrs. Dursley: Oh. Uh. . . the one of my husband.  
  
Harry: (drawing back in amazement) That creature hasn't died of some sort of cancer yet?!  
  
Mrs. Dursley: Of course not! You should know the wonders of chemo! Weren't you on set for episode 45,782?!  
  
Harry: N-no. . . .that was back when Richard Gere was filling in to- -  
  
Mrs. Dursley: You will not talk back to me. Now make my little strudel some bacon.  
  
(Harry, finding it curious that he should be making breakfast food for a breakfast item, banishes the thought to begin cooking the bacon. After a few minutes, we notice a very large entity crouched behind a newspaper.)  
  
Mr. Dursley: Comb your hair, creature.  
  
Harry: (look of pained confusion and anger just OOZING) If you want me out of your house so badly. . . . would it be so hard to ask?  
  
Vernon: You little whelp. . . you think I wanted to take you in after your folks bit the big one? It wasn't my choice. Besides, I can't ask you to leave. Don't you realize our ratings would go down without a main lead?!  
  
(wow. . . that bit about dead parents. . . . I didn't even have to add that bit of corny cinematic angst.)  
  
Harry: IS THAT ALL I AM TO YOU?! TELEVISION RATINGS?  
  
Vernon: Well, you sure as crackers aren't family.  
  
Harry: Wh-what. . .?  
  
Vernon: Don't you question me. (He pulls an obviously fake pistol from behind his back. Cheesy psycho music starts up.)  
  
Vernon: Run fast, boy. Run reeeaaaa-oh! Good morning, Dudley! (he replaces the weapon, halting the corny music. We zoom in briefly on Harry's expression of pain and disbelief, then back to the typical shot.)  
  
Dudley: I want food.  
  
Vernon: Certainly, my son!  
  
(He pulls a chair out for Dudley, then races upstairs to fetch Dudley's presents, presumably.)  
  
Dudley: Hurry up.  
  
Harry: Me or him?  
  
Dudley: Dude. . . . I'm quasi-evil, remember? I mean both of you. Now make me food so I can cram my already over-size lower abdomen with more filth for no reason in particular.  
  
Petunia: That's my little strudel!  
  
(Dudley smirks cruelly in Harry's direction. We zoom in on Harry so as to hear some of his thoughts.)  
  
Harry: (a reverb in effect) I get abused, picked on, humiliated, caught in the middle of spats and threats of divorce, and this is what I get? Please, someone, help me out of this place. . . .  
  
(Harry finishes the bacon with a flourish of. . . ANGST. He tosses it on the table and reaches for a slice of it, but immediately thrown to the side as a barrage of Dudley hits it. Breakfast has begun as usual.)  
  
Vernon: Petunia. . . why do you always stare out that window at our neighbors?  
  
Petunia: (reminding herself again that Vernon is her husband) No reason, dear.  
  
Vernon: No, there's a reason, alright. You're seeing that Chet chump over there again.  
  
Petunia: No, Vernon, I'm not. Especially not after. . .  
  
(We zoom into a flashback of Vernon hosing down a sharply dressed, hunky young man who's clearly on a fancy date with Petunia. We see another one of the same man, only in swimming trunks, getting hit with various garden tools, clearly on another date with Petunia. Finally, we see the same man being shot to pieces by an insane looking Vernon, clearly. . . well, you get the picture.)  
  
Vernon: Then you're seeing his brother, Eli.  
  
Petunia: (sighs) No, Vernon.  
  
(We see a terribly similar flashback, only with a fire hose instead of a garden one, several forks and butter knives instead of garden tools, and a dull ax instead of a gun. The dull red glow in Vernon's eye fixes him a place on our "psycho bad guy" list.)  
  
Petunia: Why do you always have to kill my boy-toys?  
  
Vernon: It's fun and it rakes in ratings, and it shocks people, or then I hope. . . . I mean because you're supposed to be married to me!  
  
Petunia: Pshaw. Like you've never cheated on me.  
  
(We see a quick flashback of Vernon holding hands with Chet, but it is mercifully cut short.)  
  
Harry: He-llo! Plot, maybe?  
  
Vernon: Ever heard of a subplot?  
  
Harry: Dude. No. I live in a closet.  
  
Vernon: Of course you don't! And don't talk back to me! Now go to your closet!  
  
Harry: Oy. . . .  
  
(Harry does begin to go to his closet, but is cut short by a shady character knocking at the door. . . . whoever could it be? Stay tuned.)  
  
(Cue the commercials.)  
  
~~  
  
Ayup. That's part one. It's just so heart-wrenching, isn't it? Moves you to tears. Or maybe the lavatory. Who knows.  
  
Oh well. . . . stick around for the next heart-pounding edition. Please, also tell me what you think. It's helpful, and it makes me feel all warm inside. Thanks.  
  
~Sideshow. 


End file.
